


Fool for Love

by flootzavut



Series: When Larry Met Freddy [2]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-typical language, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, M/M, Sex, Smut, When Larry Met Freddy, queer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-08 02:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: They're just sitting around, shooting the breeze, nothing personal 'cause he ain't stupid, but so sue him, he likes the kid.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

**_Fool for Love_ **

* * *

 

They're just sitting around, shooting the breeze, nothing personal 'cause Larry ain't fucking stupid, but so sue him, he likes the kid. Sitting in this shithole of an apartment drinking lukewarm beer 'cause Orange forgot to put it in the fucking fridge is still better than sitting in his own motel room alone. The kid's got this stupid funny sense of humour, and he's no hardship to look at, neither, with his big eyes and that bottom lip that's always halfway to a pout, and laughing with him about shit is the best time Larry's had on a job in a long fucking while.

Orange (God, Larry hates the stupid code names. He's been wondering how his name would sound coming out of this kid's mouth from the start, and wants to call him something better than a stupid fucking fruit) is nervous tonight, like the job's coming up too fast and he ain't ready. Larry wants to reassure him, they've got this, it's an easy fucking score, but he remembers his own first big job and he figures some nerves are just part of the deal when you're that green.

The kid's always had a jumpy kind of energy to him, like he don't know how to sit still half the time, but the last couple days it's gotten to be like he's got fire ants up his crack. His hair's flopping down over his eyes, and Larry kinda wants to reach out and brush it back from his face, and he figures the kid wouldn't even mind (Larry can spot a twink when he sees one, all right? It's a goddamned survival trait in his world), 'cause he knows Orange likes him plenty, God knows why. But Larry's a professional, and he keeps his fucking hands to himself on the job. Okay, so maybe he's crossed that line a couple times before, and maybe he's already too free and easy touching the kid, but right now he don't think he could keep it fucking professional, because did you see this kid's mouth? After, after they're done and they're away clean, then he's gonna grab the kid and push him up against the nearest goddamned wall, but he don't shit where he eats.

"Hey kid," he says, "you okay?"

Orange blinks, like he didn't even realise he went quiet. This kid can do silent like a pro, but when it's just the two of them, he's a smartass who runs his mouth off being funny and clever and goddamn charming.

Larry's not used to him being so damn... pensive. It's fucking weird, is what it is.

"Nervous?"

A brief, jerky nod.

"You'll be fine," he says, then teases, "you're a tough guy, right buddy boy?"

It's one of those in jokes you get when you spend too much time with someone you like too fucking much. Usually it gets this cute grin, like Orange knows Larry likes him, knows Larry enjoys seeing him smile, but right now the kid just stares at him, up from under that soft curtain of hair and those long sweeping lashes (oh God, Larry is fucking screwed), and looks really fucking sad.

"Hey, champ, what's wrong?"

Orange sighs, his whole body going loose and drooping like his strings have been cut.

"I can't do this," he murmurs, and for a moment Larry thinks he means the whole sitting around, shootin' the shit, pretending they ain't flirting thing, and Larry is  _so_  fucking screwed because his heart sinks like he's some goddamned amateur crook who gets involved, and then the kid looks up and continues and Larry's world gets turned on its head: "I'm sorry, Larry. I'm so sorry."

Larry's so knocked sideways, so confused the kid knows his name, he almost misses the next part, the part that's important, the part that takes his upside-down world and rips its fucking heart out.

"I'm a cop, Larry... I'm sorry. I'm so... so sorry. I'm a cop."

There's a moment of silence.

"I can't... I can't do this to you," says Orange, like that means anything right now.

It takes a couple more seconds for the reality of it, the truth of it, to really make itself at home in Larry's mind.

Then it explodes.

First thing he sees is just red. His whole head is just... red. Because he fucking likes this kid, likes him as a person, likes him to look at, likes his body, fucking wants him - he's been sitting here wondering what it would be like to kiss the fucker, he's been teaching the kid the trade and trying not to get distracted by his tight ass - and the motherfucker's a fucking pig?

He's got his gun out, he's got Orange out of his chair and pinned to the wall before he can even think, gun shoved up under Orange's chin and ready to blow that beautiful face to pieces.

Larry's breathing hard, and so is Orange, but Orange isn't trying to weasel out of this, isn't struggling. Just looks up at him with his eyes huge and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth the way that's been driving Larry absolutely fucking crazy since the start.

"I'm so sorry, man," Orange says again. "It's my fucking job. But I can't do it..." He shakes his head.

Larry shoves his gun harder into Orange's throat. "Sorry? You're fucking  _sorry_?" What he wants to say is, 'I'm a fucking  _job_  to you?'

Orange blinks a couple times and takes another deep breath, like he's scared, which he should be, because Larry is so ready to pull the trigger and blast him all over the fucking wall.

"So fucking sorry."

"Fuck you." Up close, Orange's eyes aren't just green, but gold and brown and blue as well, and fuck, did they choose a fucking pretty undercover for this exact reason? Has this punk been messing with Larry the whole time? Did some jerk out Larry to the LAPD so they knew to send in some young gorgeous piece of ass to flirt with him and make him think he finally got some luck? Fuck. It hurts more than it should, and he's not just angry, he's fucking incandescent, because it fucking well worked and it fucking well burns. This whole time he's been losing his mind over the little shit, and it turns out he's been played.

He pokes again with his gun, and the kid (no, fuck, not the kid, not his protégé, not his fucking  _friend_ ) makes a little gagging noise like it hurts. Larry's forearm is solid across his chest and his breathing is shallow, and well, fucking  _good_ , he should be scared and intimidated. Larry pins him harder, with his whole body. He can feel Orange's dick against his thigh, and he doesn't know whether to be flattered he gives this pretty betrayer a hard on or fucking disgusted his own dick is just as hard. So maybe Orange really is a twink after all, but he's still a fucking pig, so what does it even matter?

"I'm sorry," Orange chokes out, and it occurs to Larry that as well as failing to struggle, he hasn't tried to excuse his actions, hasn't begged for his life. The kid isn't stupid, he must realise he's seconds away from a messy death, that to Larry, killing a cop is like stepping on a fucking ant but with less moral struggle and regret, so why the fuck is he just standing here, letting Larry pin him, not begging for his freedom or his life or at least a merciful end?

Larry could, probably should, call up Joe, get him to bring a couple guys around, go to town on this fuck, find out exactly how much he knows and how much his superiors know. Send a message that they ain't amateurs, that you don't screw around with Joe fucking Cabot. Shooting his head off is too easy, too damn quick.

But Larry's not moving. And he's not sure why not.

Orange sucks on his lip again, and it short-circuits something in Larry's head, and he's leaning in and licking it for himself, pressing in harder, forcing his way into Orange's mouth like he has the right, except he doesn't have to force because Orange is opening up to him and kissing him back, with a little whimpering sound that hits Larry right in his libido. Larry doesn't have a fucking clue what's happening, but he can't make it stop even as he jabs the barrel of his gun even harder into Orange's neck. This is not how this was supposed to happen (but God, he wanted it to happen so bad) and this is not how this confrontation should be going (but he doesn't know how to get back to something approaching reality).

Eventually, he pulls away with a gasp, finally forcing his lips off of the kid (off of Orange, off of the traitor, off of the pig), both of them breathing heavily as they stare at one another. Larry wonders if he looks anywhere near as shocked as the kid does.

Now he can think again, kinda, he realises that Orange's hands, that shoulda been fighting him off or trying to get his gun or  _something_ , are instead on Larry's back, and those fucking gorgeous eyes are still sorrowful, and maybe Orange looks confused by Larry feasting on his lips like he's starving, but that's all.

Larry forces a thigh between Orange's, and again it's the wrong word, because Orange just... lets him, and his eyelashes flutter, and he swallows so hard Larry can feel it budge against the gun.

Another whisper: "Sorry."

"Fuck you, Orange. See how you like being screwed with, huh?" The words sound wrong, feel wrong in his mouth, but this is what you do when they try and humiliate you, right? You fucking hit back, that's what you do. Hit them where it hurts. "Looking for a funny story to tell your boss? Yeah, big bad Larry Dimick's a queer, a fag, wanted to do me right in the ass. That would be fucking hilarious." And God, he wanted to, he wants to, but not like this, not to be a punchline.

"Freddy," the kid gasps out, "my name's Freddy."

This is... not going right. Larry has a gun to this prick's neck and his body pinned to the wall, and all he gets is 'I'm so sorry' and a fucking name? None of this feels right, none of it makes any sense. Larry knows he won't do anything to this kid, knows with sudden desperation that he's not gonna pull the trigger; he could do what the fuck he wanted here, but even if it was all pretty lies... He doesn't want to. He's not gonna do a damned thing.

Orange should be shaking in his fucking shoes, though, right? Because he couldn't possibly know that. It's like he doesn't even realise how much danger he's in. Could be in. Would be in, if Larry wasn't realising he doesn't wanna harm a hair on this asshole's head.

"Fucking pig." It doesn't come out as hard as he meant. He can do better than this. "Mr fucking Orange."

"Please. Freddy. My name's Freddy."

"Freddy." Larry doesn't mean to say it out loud, but he can't help it. He wants to taste it on his tongue, he wants to know what it's like to say this man's name.

The kid blinks, then he's the one who's kissing Larry, and Larry doesn't even realise he doesn't have the gun pressed to Freddy's chin any more until he hears the dull thud it makes hitting the floor.

He manages to pull away quicker this time, because fuck if he knows what's happening, and he needs to breathe. Freddy- the kid- fucking Orange, he ain't in control, Larry is in control, that's how it's gotta be, and - fuck, the kid has fucking  _tears_  on his face, goddamn.

"What the fuck is this?" Larry demands. "What the fuck?"

Orange takes a long, deep breath, lets it out, takes another. "I told you," he whispers finally, his throat tight from emotion or sore from where Larry was jabbing him, Larry has no fucking clue, "I can't do that to you. I'm a fucking failure, but I can't."

Orange looks up at him, naked emotion in his eyes, then Freddy leans forward and presses his face into Larry's neck, and Larry's world takes another tumble into a totally unexpected place.


	2. Chapter 2

He gets the pair of them to the couch. He doesn't have a fucking clue what to make of how Orange is clinging on to him like he's a goddamned lifeline. It's really fucking weird.

The kid kind of crawls into his lap, draping himself over one thigh with his arms around Larry's neck.

Larry can't help how he's a soft touch for this boy, patting his back with one hand, stroking his hair with the other like he's been aching to do for days. Comforting him, ignoring that he's a cop, that he's been lying the whole damn time. Ignoring that by rights Larry should hate him and his lying punk ass. It comes natural to him to love on this kid, and Larry didn't realise he was in so deep.

"Fuck," he mumbles. How'd this get so fucking screwed up? It was supposed to be an easy score with a juicy payout, and instead he finds himself in the apartment of some kid who barely looks old enough to fucking drink, the same kid who's a fucking undercover cop.

Part of him can't believe they send this boy undercover. It's one thing being part of a crew like this for real - if life hands you a shitty deal and you gotta make your way in it by any means necessary, well, Larry's been there. But he ain't sure he could sit back, calculate the risks, and send someone this young and green into such a dangerous situation. Larry's a criminal, a fucking killer when he has to be, but even to him that seems... cold. Ice cold.

In Larry's world, cops are not real people, they're the enemy, but that's easier to believe when they're out there in uniform, or when they're a grown-ass man laughing 'cause he thought he fooled you. So much damn easier to fill his body with lead.

This kid... this kid curled into his lap and apologising for doing what he's trained and paid and sworn to do, this kid who's too fucking soft to go through with it because he likes the guys he's supposed to hate... it's a lot harder to put him in that bracket, and probably impossible to keep him there.

He must be older than he seems, just to be doing this job, but there's a fragility to him that makes it much too hard for Larry to push him away like he would if he had any sense.

Well, that and the way Larry's wanted him close since the start. Probably, he shoulda told Joe 'No' in the beginning, shoulda said it's me or the new kid, I don't wanna work with him. Joe knows him well; he woulda trusted Larry's gut, wouldn't have needed an explanation.

But Larry wanted... just wanted.

"Fuck you, Orange," he says, sounding unconvincing even to himself.

"I'm  _Freddy_ ," the kid says again.

Larry sighs. He's trying really hard not to give in to letting Orange be 'Freddy', but it's not working. The whole fucking time, he wanted a name to go with this face, it chafed to fall back on stupid things like 'buddy boy' and 'kid' and 'tough guy' because calling him Orange felt idiotic and impersonal. Now he finally has something better, his mind doesn't wanna let it go, wants to let the cute cat with the sweet ass be Freddy, even though he's also a fucking untrustworthy pig who was trying to put Larry away.

"Well, fuck you, then, Freddy." He can't keep his reluctant amusement out of his voice.

"If you want."

It comes out so faint, Larry's not sure he heard right, so he just stares down at the top of Freddy's head. He does not understand this kid but at all.

They sit there a while longer, Freddy huddled against him like he represents warmth and safety, Larry's fingers threaded through Freddy's hair like they're lovers, and God, if this was after the heist, if they made it to Mexico, or if they got away clean and got established a couple states away, this would be so fucking nice, this would be all Larry's been trying not to let himself want and hope for ever since that night at the bar.

How it works now is anyone's fucking guess. Larry knows he's not gonna tell Joe - if he can't bring himself to hurt this kid, then he's sure as hell not gonna stand by and let Joe or his goons do it. But he's not exactly wild about the idea of going through with the heist when they have a rat (he has a rat curled in his arms), when it's a one-way ticket back inside. No thank you.

He gives in to a goddamned stupid impulse, presses his mouth into Freddy's hair for a second, breathes in deeply. Fuck, he's a fucking idiot; he's gone, he's done, he's finished. He's not even sure he knows Freddy, not really, doesn't know how much of the person he likes so much is even real, but the way he feels about the kid, this fucking irrational desire to hold him and care for him and protect him, is going nowhere.

"So what do we do now?" he asks.

Freddy shrugs. "Didn't think that far ahead." He looks up at Larry through his eyelashes. "Didn't think I'd need to," he admits softly. "Thought you were gonna kill me."

"Almost did."

"Why didn't you?"

"Fuck if I know," Larry says. He shoulda. He shouldn't give a fuck about this kid. He shouldn't have even hesitated.

They stare at each other.

"Why'd you fucking tell me?" He's still not clear. Now his anger is just anger, not red hot rage, he needs to understand.

Freddy shrugs, looks away.

"Seriously, kid, you musta known I might just blow your goddamned brains out."

Freddy nods. "I knew."

"Then why?"

"'Cause... 'cause I didn't wanna lie to you any more," Freddy mumbles, like he doesn't want to say it aloud. "'Cause I'm a fucking failure, but I can't put you away. Can't be the one to do it. Even if you deserve it."

Larry's world tips sideways again. The rate he's going, it's never gonna get back the right way up. "Me?"

There's a pause, and Freddy nods once more, still not looking at Larry.

Larry grabs the kid's face and forces it up, trying to make eye contact. For a few seconds, there's kind of a struggle as Freddy tries to brush him off, tries to look anywhere but in Larry's eyes, but Larry's bigger and stronger and really fucking pissed, so eventually Freddy has no choice but to meet his gaze with those innocent-looking eyes of his. Larry assumed this face was why Orange got away with the shit he did; now he knows who Freddy actually is (and probably he's never committed a fucking crime, let alone gotten away with it), he wonders if that innocence is real, at least some of it. Not innocent of deception, the little shit, not innocent of fucking lying to Larry's face the whole time they were becoming friends and Larry was thinking about what could happen after the job like a goddamned fool, but not a criminal, not even a petty thief or a smalltime pot dealer.

They look at one another for long moments. Larry should not still like this kid so damn much, but he does. Still wants to do and say all kinds of stuff he really shouldn't. Still feels like his heart is gonna leap right out his chest. He reaches up to brush Freddy's hair back from his eyes with a tenderness that's definitely not okay for him to feel, then rubs his knuckles over Freddy's cheek.

Freddy swallows hard enough Larry can hear it, and blinks slowly, once, twice. His eyes are unfocused, his pupils blown, and nobody, not even Marlon fucking Brando, is this good of an actor.

Larry raises his eyebrows in a question. Freddy shrugs a shoulder and grins, lopsidedly and unconvincingly, and Larry still has a hold of his face, but his eyes slide away and his ears turn pink and -  _fuck me_. The kid is only goddamned embarrassed, and it strikes Larry as being absolutely fucking hilarious. He laughs like only this kid has made him laugh in years, and God, it's fucking hard to stay fucking mad when Freddy's this fucking adorable.

"So buddy, you got anything else you wanna tell me? Just how much crap have you fed me since we met?" Larry's anger is still hovering there in his voice along with his amusement, but he makes no attempt to hide it. He likes the kid, and he's fucking pissed at him, and he's not inclined to pretend about either of those things.

Freddy shrugs again. "Guess it helps Joe don't want us talking 'bout personal crap," he says, with a wry smile. "Never held up a poker game in Portland. The commode story never happened." He pauses. "Or maybe it did happen. Not to me, though. But all the other things... there's stuff I ain't told you, but nothin' else I actually told you's a lie. And all this stuff I got here-" his gesture seems to encompass the posters and the half-painted action figure on the kitchen table and more, and he looks kind of ashamed "-all this stupid geeky crap? It's mine."

For some reason, Larry finds his embarrassment kinda... really fucking cute. "Never apologise for loving what you love," he says softly. "Being passionate about stuff is..." Larry leaves the sentence hanging, 'cause the only way that springs to mind to finish it is '... the reason I love you,' which can't be true, and even if it was true, Larry would need to spend some quality time on his own with the idea before he was ready to voice it aloud. "It's a good thing," he manages at last.

Larry can't - despite himself - seem to shake the notion that Freddy is basically a good kid, even if he can't figure out how that coexists with him being a cop.

There are other things that aren't so good. Things like the open boxes of cereal and chips and donuts that say he probably hasn't eaten a proper meal since he moved away from his mama. You don't get to be an old crook if you don't notice stuff; Larry's spent way too much of the last couple weeks filling Freddy up with any half-decent food you can buy without having to explain yourself, and wishing he had the excuse to take the kid out for a real goddamn meal that ain't mostly grease.

"Well... then hi," Freddy says eventually. "I'm Freddy Newandyke, and I'm a nerd. And queer as fuck. And a cop." Freddy holds out his hand in the few inches between them, and Larry laughs again, because this is so absurd.

"You're also a fucking slob," he points out.

Freddy shrugs a shoulder in a 'yeah, so?' kind of gesture, and waits with his hand outstretched.

"Lawrence Dimick." Larry takes Freddy's hand, though rather than shake it, he just holds it, savours the moment, the feel of Freddy's skin against his own. "But I guess you probably know that. I'm a crook." He pauses. "My friends call me Larry."

Freddy's eyes snap to his, intense and uncertain and hopeful. "Yeah?"

Larry presses his lips together and rolls his eyes, like he's resigned to this or something, and to his delight it prompts a free, uninhibited giggle from Freddy's throat. It isn't a sound Larry's heard before. He's made Freddy laugh a good handful of times, but when you're on a crew like this, you keep a tight hold. And of course, he now knows Freddy had more reason than most to keep himself under control. This easy laughter, even if it's mostly relief, that's somethin' else. Fucking adorable.

"Nice to meet ya, Larry," says Freddy, laughter still bubbling in his voice.

Larry raises one eyebrow. "I'm reserving judgement how nice it is to meet you," he admits.

Freddy winces. Larry wants to kick himself for quenching that humour, but just 'cause Freddy is (despite his profession) a sweet kid with a tight ass and a good sense of humour, a kid Larry likes a hell of a lot, that don't change the fact they're on opposite sides of the law here.

"Guess I deserved that."

"Guess ya did."

Freddy sucks on his lip in the hella distracting way he has when he's nervous. "Can't be easy being into guys," he says, "in your... line of work."

Pretty clear what he's asking. "I go both ways," Larry says. "Kinda helps... ya know, camouflage."

Some of the tension eases out of Freddy's shoulders, like he hasn't figured out Larry's really fucking hot for him. It's another thing Larry can't help liking. He shifts and nudges until Freddy's butt drops between his thighs, then laughs aloud at the way Freddy's eyes open  _wide_.

"Seriously, kid, that's the least of your problems right now - I like you a lot. Helluva lot. That ain't the issue."

"Oh." Freddy searches Larry's face for a long, long while, then sits up, puts his hands on Larry's shoulders, and slings one leg over Larry's knees, keeping eye contact the whole time.

Larry can't look away, can hardly breathe, as Freddy settles back down into his lap and looks at him again. He can feel Freddy's arousal through the layers of denim, hard against his own, and he's bewildered again by how much Freddy wants an ageing thief. That it wasn't put on, that all those little moments they had weren't an old man's wishful thinking or a young man's deception. His hands move on instinct to Freddy's waist, and Freddy's are slipping up his neck to his face, then Freddy leans in and kisses him hard.

Larry wants to push him away, wants to push him down into the couch and take everything he has to give, wants to fucking cry, and doesn't know what he wants. What he ends up doing is kissing Freddy right back. He's still so fucking pissed, but God, this kid's mouth on his feels like inevitability and tastes like heaven.

He grabs Freddy around his ass and pulls him in closer, and they grind together, and Larry hasn't had someone who wanted him this bad, who he wanted this bad, guy or gal, in a long fucking time. When he strokes Freddy's buttocks, he gets a whine and a desperate wiggle, and when he slips his hands under Freddy's shirt and up his back, the noise Freddy makes is one he doesn't think he'll ever forget.

When they finally surface, panting, Larry feels like he's drunk on the kind of fucking expensive champagne he's only tasted a couple times his entire life. "Fuck," he manages. "Listen, kid-"

"Don't give a fuck about issues," Freddy interrupts. He's breathing heavily, face flushed, almost wild. "We can figure all that shit out after."

Larry's about to protest, then Freddy's letting his tongue run slowly over that full bottom lip of his before sucking it quite deliberately into his mouth.

Larry is transfixed, and when he looks up, Freddy's eyes are dark and filled with want. Suddenly Larry doesn't care about anything except getting Freddy naked as fast as humanly possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a Freddy POV version penned by the lovely [BadWolf303](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolf303/pseuds/BadWolf303). It is paired with this story already, but if you want to read it before you read chapter 3 of this story, it's here: [Lifeline](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11101236)


	3. Chapter 3

Larry doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't for Freddy to take charge, drag Larry to his bed, and climb on board. He didn't expect Freddy to tear at his clothes like a kid on Christmas morning. It takes every shred of self-control he has, but he needs to slow Freddy down a little now it comes to the point. Because he really fucking likes this guy and you only get one first time, and Larry is, despite appearances, kind of a sap in some ways.

He'd never admit it aloud, and it's not gonna stop him from screwing Freddy nine ways from Sunday, but this means a whole lot to him, and he wants it to be... good.

So he rolls them and pins Freddy down with ease, amused by the combined alarm and arousal on Freddy's face. Larry strongly suspects Freddy's never slept with someone who could take him apart, either literally ('cause the kid is scrappy as fuck, but Larry's got weight and experience on his side) or just by making his brain melt out his fucking ears. Larry is more than capable of giving Freddy the seeing to he's probably needed for years, and there's a fierce joy in it, in seeing Freddy's open mouth, the flush of arousal on his skin, the way his eyes are full of surprise and fear and hope all combined. In knowing he's gonna give Freddy something he hasn't had in a very long time. Maybe hasn't ever had.

Larry leans in for a slow, deep kiss, then he doesn't need to hold Freddy down any more because he's melting into the comforter like hot taffy, delicious little sounds of want and surrender pouring into Larry's mouth like bourbon.

Maybe, maybe later or tomorrow, he'll let Freddy take over, he'll give in and let Freddy take the lead, but right now Larry has to be on top and in control and needs - God, really needs to see and touch and stake his claim.

He pulls away so he can watch as he slides his hand up under the stupid skinny little tank top Freddy must think makes him look hard, and Freddy arches into his touch, his eyelids fluttering, lifting his arms obediently so Larry can strip it off him along with his shirt.

Larry traces down the sensitive underside of Freddy's arm, grins when it prompts a shiver, then spends some time acquainting himself with what he's unwrapped.

Freddy's slender but solid, wiry and muscular like a whippet. It's a weird comparison, but with his big eyes and the way he's still a bundle of nerves, it's irresistible. His skin is smooth and soft, creamy pale with a dusting of freckles.

Larry brushes his hands over Freddy's stomach, over muscle that isn't deeply defined but curves pleasantly under his fingers, feathers down each side of the V over his hips, then teases at the edge of Freddy's jeans and leans down to suck at Freddy's nipple. He can't help his grin at the way Freddy begs and swears and comes back to life enough to tug on Larry's shirt and fumble with his own belt buckle.

"Uh-uh-uh," says Larry, pulling Freddy away from either of their clothing, tugging his arms above his head and pinning his wrists down with one strong hand.

Freddy lets out a noise somewhere between need and fear and desperation, and who knew a nerdy copper had such a fucking filthy streak?

... well okay, given some of the looks the kid threw his way over the last week or so, Larry kinda thought he might, but unlike most kinky little fruitcakes, Freddy must actually have a set of handcuffs stashed somewhere, and doesn't  _that_  just sound like a fucking enjoyable way to spend an afternoon?

They kiss again, and whatever uncertainty was holding Freddy back before seems to have gone, and Larry finds his breath stolen by how hard and passionate and unrestrained the kiss is, and fucking hell, he is in six feet of trouble and digging deeper here, and he don't have six feet to spare, but he cannot bring himself to give a single solitary fuck.

"Oh God, please," Freddy breathes when he gets his mouth back, and Larry is grinning wildly and letting go of Freddy's hands because he needs to get these jeans off now this fucking second, and if that means Freddy is allowed free to work on his shirt, well next time Larry will find the handcuffs first; for now he's concentrating on getting Freddy out of his clothes.

Larry laughs when he realises the kid has on fucking superhero underwear. He looks up at Freddy, shaking his head (though he can't help also smiling), and Freddy's expression is a mixture of embarrassment and defiance. Larry grabs him through the cotton and squeezes. (Fuck, the kid is packing.) If Freddy can deal with Larry laughing at him, Larry can deal with going through the fucking Hulk to get at Freddy's cock.

Freddy bucks into his touch and pulls on his shirt some more, and screw it, Larry leans in for another kiss, 'cause it's just too fucking good, okay?

Freddy's fingers linger on Larry's skin as it's uncovered, trace over Larry's pecs with a kind of reverence, sweep down over his belly, and part of him feared getting naked would destroy any remaining mystique or whatever the fuck Freddy sees in him, would leave him just a sad old bastard who could hope for a pity fuck at best. He's built for utility, not speed, he knows that; most of the time, he doesn't give a fuck, but most of the time, he doesn't have the most gorgeous piece of ass he's even seen in fucking forever laid out almost naked underneath him. Freddy's so damn young, so fucking pretty.

A hurried blowjob in the john, sticking your hand down a guy's pants and rubbing one out as he returns the favour, that's one thing. Who gives a fuck what you look like then? A bed and the light on, taking it slow, that's a different fucking ballgame. But the kid's touching him like he's beautiful, like he's a fucking work of art, and nothing else seems to matter.

Half in a daze, Larry reaches down to peel away those goddamn underpants, laughs when Freddy's eyes go big again and he sucks on his bottom lip like he's downright fucking scared.

"Ain't gonna hurt ya, kiddo," Larry murmurs.

He looks down to see what he's uncovered and - holy fuck. Larry just stares for a moment, because Freddy's cock is just as pretty as the rest of him. Not just nicely sized and shaped, but actually goddamn  _pretty_ , which is not a word Larry used in a good long while before Freddy popped up in his life. Larry wants to suck it and fuck it and just fucking touch it and admire it, and has no fucking idea how he got this lucky. Suspicion rears up again because this makes no fucking sense.

"Why you doing this, buddy boy?" he asks softly.

Freddy frowns up at him, and his eyes are dark, needy, and wanting. "What?"

"You could have fuckin' anybody. Why me?"

Freddy's face crumples, and he runs his hand hesitantly through Larry's hair. "Why do I-? Fuck, Larry, why does anyone want anybody? I fucking... I really fucking like you, man." His voice cracks as he says it, and he looks pleadingly up at Larry with those big, honest eyes that Larry knows can lie with frightening ease.

Larry watches Freddy's face as he traces down all that pale skin, down and down until he can wrap his fingers around Freddy's dick. It's hard and hot and heavy, it's everything a dick should be, and when Larry moves his hand over it, Freddy gulps, and his eyelashes fan over his cheeks as his eyes close. His head drops back, and he murmurs, "Larry," low and soft, like he really means it, like he's really here.

"Kid," says Larry. "Kid, look at me."

Freddy opens his eyes slowly, with difficulty. "Freddy," he says again. "Call me Freddy."

And just like that, Larry can't breathe. All this is illicit - Joe would have a fucking heart attack if he had any idea one of his best men had been spending so much time with the new, untried kid, never mind was sleeping with a fucking cop, for fuck's sake - but the names... the names make it feel real in a way that even the nudity doesn't.

Larry continues to touch and stroke. Freddy's breath stutters, and he makes little choked off sounds that seem to catch in his throat. "Look at me," Larry says again. "Look at me, Freddy," and just like that Freddy's eyes snap back to his. Larry still doesn't completely trust those eyes - he wants to, holy fuck does he want to, but he doesn't. But there's no denying the desire there.

Tentatively, like he thinks Larry might stop him, Freddy reaches to undo Larry's belt, to pluck at his fly, need making him clumsy and hamfisted. His eyes are fixed on Larry's with laser precision even as he slides Larry's pants over his ass, even as he's breathing faster with surprise that Larry has no underwear on, even when he wraps his hand around Larry's dick and Larry kicks his pants off the rest of the way.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Larry, you're... fuck."

Larry chuckles. "I'm what, kid?" he breathes.

"Big." Freddy gulps, glancing down for a second. "Thick."

Larry outright chuckles. "Not exactly lettin' the side down yourself, Freddy."

God, Freddy's cock actually pulses in Larry's hand when he uses Freddy's name. It's fucking hot.

"Will you- will you fuck me?" Freddy's gaze drops back to Larry's crotch. "Please?"

Larry's surprised again. He's not huge, but a lotta guys react to a thick cock, in his experience, with fear and uncertainty, and sometimes 'get that fucking thing away from me'; well, maybe he's been fucking the wrong men. Freddy's looking at him with unrestrained, undisguised want, and it does a fella good to see that expression aimed his way.

"I don't know, kid, think you can take it?"

He can tell the answer's yes, can tell Freddy's aching for it, but Larry's only human, and he wants to hear it aloud.

"Every fucking inch, I swear." Freddy sounds desperate. "Please, Larry, want you so fucking bad."

Larry takes a deep, shuddering breath. He's tempted - good God is he tempted. He slides his hand from Freddy's cock, under Freddy's back and down his spine to caress the ass on offer, and it is damn nice. Larry can just picture spreading Freddy wide, working him open with fingers and tongue, pushing in and-  _fuck_.

Of course he wants to. Simple truth of it is, he wants every-fucking-thing there is. But call him old-fashioned, there are some things you don't do with every fucker who offers. You do 'em with people you love and trust. Freddy is frighteningly close to fitting both those categories, but Larry isn't there yet. And... yeah, okay, maybe it's just the tiniest bit of lingering resentment over the whole fucking cop thing, one last punishment before he forgives the motherfucker for misleading him. Come tomorrow or the day after, he promises himself, all bets are off.

"Not tonight," he says, and yeah, there's a part of him that takes a twisted sort of pleasure in Freddy's whine, in his obvious disappointment. Hey, Larry's a criminal, okay? He never claimed to be nice, what the hell did you expect? "Not tonight."

Freddy practically pouts, that stupid bottom lip of his making Larry stupid, and it's irresistible to lean down and suck on it, to tug it gently between his teeth, to laugh when Freddy responds by pulling on his hair and tugging him into a kiss that almost makes Larry change his mind and has him grasping at Freddy's dick again.

"Please," Freddy murmurs into his mouth, "please, Larry, oh God, I want it so bad, Larry."

Larry has to take another deep breath - seriously, who woulda thought this kid was such a cock slut? - before he shakes his head again. "Not tonight."

Freddy sighs, and when Larry pulls back a fraction, Freddy bites his lip.

"Whatcha thinking?" Larry asks, his voice softer than he meant it to be.

Freddy's got that look of embarrassed defiance on his face again. "I'm thinking if you're not gonna fuck me, you should at least let me-" he swallows hard "-let me suck you instead." He flushes, like he's ashamed to admit he wants it. Probably thinks it's too fucking gay to want to be fucked  _and_  to want to do the sucking, though Larry can't help being kinda touched he's been honest despite his self-consciousness.

Larry smiles down at him as gentle as he can manage - he'd bet his share of the ice Freddy's not had much of that given him about anything, much less when it comes to sex with guys. Larry's not much for empathising with fucking cops, for fuck's sake, but Freddy's making him think, and what he's thinking is that being a queer copper is probably about as much fun as being a queer crook. Poor fucker's been shamed into thinking the things he wants are wrong or at least unmanly, and the LAPD ain't exactly a nurturing environment for a nerdy scrap of a kid who needs to be told he's not fucking broken.

"Like I'm gonna turn that down," Larry says warmly, and there it is, a flash of surprise, like Freddy expected to get laughed at or told he's a stupid fag, or that he's a fucking girl, and it kinda breaks Larry's old heart to see it. "Got one condition, mind."

Freddy stares up at him, all big eyes and floppy hair and worried whippet face, and Larry wonders if the bastards who made this kid feel like less of a man are still around, if Larry can arrange for them all to have mysterious and deadly accidents.

He shakes the thought away and leans down to ghost his lips along Freddy's, light as silk, keeping eye contact all the while. "You gotta let me suck you after," he murmurs.

The flush on Freddy's face deepens and spreads, but it's accompanied by a wondering, disbelieving grin. "Yeah?"

Larry looks down at the handful of dick he's fondling. "Fuck, yeah. God, kid, you're fucking gorgeous."

Freddy goes bright red from his hairline to his nipples, smiles wide and delighted, and giggles that glorious fucking giggle. Larry could listen to that giggle all fucking day, it's fucking intoxicating.

Larry leans down. "If I treat you real nice, baby," he says, right in Freddy's ear, in the lowest, grumbliest voice he can summon as he strokes Freddy firm and tender, "maybe one day you'll fuck me with this beautiful dick, too, huh?"

Freddy shivers and lets out a noise that's pure want distilled into sound, and Larry laughs. "Good boy," he whispers. He mouths at the top of Freddy's neck, gives Freddy's dick one last gentle tug, then tangles a hand in his hair and rolls them so Freddy's on top.

He looks, honestly, pretty surprised to find himself there, looks at Larry with fuzzy, confused eyes.

"Wanna suck my cock, doncha?" Larry relaxes back into the pillow, runs his fingers through Freddy's hair then pulls gently. "Or is that all just big talk?"

The challenge is all Freddy needs to regain his focus. He grins like a shark (okay, a really young, cute shark), and leans down to kiss Larry's neck, to suck and nibble.

"Oh fuck, kid. Don't leave marks, okay?" He doesn't need Joe Cabot asking why he's got fucking lovebites on his throat, but God, it feels so good how much this fucking beautiful guy wants him. It's unbelievable, he expects he's gonna wake alone in his motel room any second and find he's jizzed all over the sheets in his sleep, but it's fucking incredible.

Freddy nips and licks and strokes his way down, grinning up at Larry like he's having the time of his fucking life, and by the time he gets to where he's going, Larry's dick is so hard it almost fucking hurts. Thank God the kid has no patience left, taking Larry right in his mouth, like he just can't wait to taste. He makes a gorgeous picture with his lips stretched around Larry's cock, looking up at Larry with something close to adoration, then closing his eyes as he hums his pleasure.

Larry tangles his hands in all that soft hair. He's not really in charge, but he's still pretending, still reassuring himself he's got this, even as Freddy eases back and gets on with making his brain fall out.

 _Ahhh, fuck_.

Freddy... God, Freddy really loves this, and it's damn hot. Larry watches in awe and slight disbelief as Freddy loves on his dick, licks and sucks, practically swallows it, hands and mouth and lips and tongue, making needy sounds of enjoyment as he works.

He's good, he's fucking awesome, Larry can't remember the last time he got such fucking incredible head, but it's how much Freddy's enjoying it, fucking getting off on it, that's making Larry's fucking mind come apart. Larry likes cock plenty, but he knows from experience there's a big fucking difference between liking generic dick and liking a particular person's dick, and Freddy must've been saving it up, wanting Larry the whole fucking time since they met to be this fucking hungry for him, and it's... Jesus fuck, Larry'd forgotten what it was like to be wanted this way.

It doesn't take long for him to buck up into Freddy's mouth, coming apart with Freddy's name on his lips, and Freddy loves every last drop of pleasure out of him until Larry has to yank on his hair because he just can't take any more.

"Fucking hell, kid," he murmurs.

Freddy looks so fucking pleased with himself as he lets Larry pull him up, and Larry can't resist kissing that smirk hard and long and deep. "Smug asshole," he says when they finally surface.

That makes Freddy grin even wider, that grin that Larry has been a sucker for since the kid was an anonymous crook auditioning for a place on Joe's crew and Larry was trying not to telegraph his interest too fucking obviously. It's this combination of shy and confident and it's just so goddamned irresistible. He can't believe that was less than three weeks ago, or how hard and fast he's falling.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Freddo."

To his surprise, Freddy's face crumples again, and he moves close. "Please... don't say that," he murmurs. "Please don't..." He shakes his head.

"Hey... hey, it's a figure of speech, baby."

Freddy's bottom lip actually trembles, like he's gonna cry. "Spent the last fucking week trying to figure out how to get you out of this without getting you caught or fucking killed," he manages. "God, Larry, please don't get killed."

"Oh baby, c'mere." Larry pulls Freddy in close. He cannot figure out why Freddy cares so fucking much, but it kills him and it fills him up all at the same time. "You are the sweetest goddamn kid I have ever known."

Freddy clings on. "Please, just hold me," he whispers, and he's gonna break Larry's heart without even trying.

"'S okay, kiddo, I've got ya," Larry whispers against his hair. "I ain't going nowhere."

Freddy manages a pained, forced chuckle. "I'm really fucking scared, Larry. Scared I'm gonna get you killed."

Larry reckons if he dies, it'll probably be 'cause a long career of theft and violence has caught up with him, not 'cause of anything Freddy does, but he figures telling Freddy that won't help. "Don't you worry 'bout me, buddy boy, I'm a tough old bastard." Well, mostly. "Won't go down easy." He chuckles. "'Cept on you."

It takes a moment for his joke to sink in, then there's a splutter of damp laughter, and Freddy dissolves into uncontrollable giggles again. Larry grins and wraps him up even tighter. He's not sure what's going on inside of Freddy's head, and if he's gonna guess, he reckons it'll probably take more than one stupid joke to reassure Freddy they're gonna be okay - 'cause Larry is gonna make damn sure of it - but he made his boy laugh, and it's too fucking adorable, and hopefully it'll stop him worrying for a bit. (Larry's trying to ignore how fucking easy it comes to him to think of Freddy as 'his' already.)

He rubs his hands up and down Freddy's back, still not close to over how he's allowed. It's a goddamned miracle, far as he's concerned. Once Freddy's giggles have eased off a bit and instead of laughter he's letting out soft sighs of pleasure, Larry rolls them back over. Freddy's all eyes and hair and bottom lip, with that nose that stops him from being too pretty to be real.

Larry runs a finger lightly down that big ol' hooter, laughs when Freddy scrunches it up and turns his face away - or tries to, but Larry slides his hand over Freddy's cheek and holds him there, then on a whim plants a kiss on the very end of his nose.

"Fucking gorgeous," he whispers.

"Fucking enormous, you mean," says Freddy. He's still all scrunched.

"Nope. Gorgeous."

Freddy's cheeks go pink, but he can't suppress his smile and his face unscrunches as he laughs. "You're nuts."

"Cheeky fucker." Larry grins. "You know what they say about guys with big noses, anyway."

"What?"

"Fucking  _delicious_  cocks."

Freddy giggles again, and it turns into noises of pleasure as Larry kisses slowly and wetly down his neck, and he paws at Larry's shoulders and arms and runs his fingers through Larry's hair, and Larry is really not fucking used to being enjoyed and savoured this way. It makes him wonder how long the poor fuck's been single, makes him want to blow Freddy's mind. Maybe they can just stay in bed for the next couple days? If only it wasn't so fucking complicated...

But he can't think about the heist or Joe or the LAPD. All he can think about is Freddy, making Freddy feel like a goddamn prince, so he strokes and licks and bites and kisses, and Freddy responds like Larry cannot even fucking  _believe_ , and by the time Larry reaches Freddy's cock, Freddy is incoherent and begging, and goddamn.

Larry's in no rush to get it over with, though. He goes slow and filthy and tender, loving on Freddy's dick with everything he has, and Freddy's gasping moans are like fucking music. He could do this for hours.

He can't help himself, once he's really gotten Freddy going, from reaching behind Freddy's balls to tease him, then when that makes Freddy thump the bed with his fists like he can hardly fucking stand it, Larry reaches further back to tickle his asshole.

Freddy shakes desperately and comes hard, and Larry's already imagining taking the kid's ass, imagining Freddy writhing under him, and curses himself for letting Freddy do him first so now he can't change his mind. But fuck. This was fucking amazing.

He sucks Freddy dry, then looks up with a grin on his face. "All right, sunshine?"

Freddy blinks his eyes open slowly. "Fuck," he says. "I'm fucking... fuck."

Larry laughs. Freddy's as limp as a wet noodle as Larry clambers back up the bed, loose and warm like he's got no fucking muscle tone in his entire body, and he giggles and sounds kinda drunk. Larry laughs and drags Freddy over himself like a skinny, sweaty little blanket, then pulls the comforter over them both.

Freddy melts into him, head on his shoulder, arm curled around his waist, and if it was natural earlier to love on the kid, now it's so natural to encircle him and pull him in tight that it's kinda... really fucking terrifying. Larry's been telling himself he was holding back: not fucking Freddy when he really fucking wanted to, not quite forgiving him, at least not officially; keeping control and deciding what they would do and what would happen when. But he's a goddamned idiot, and all his 'holding back' was a total smokescreen, and in this perfect moment he can't fool himself. He's in, he's in deep, and he loves this golden boy in his arms more than he can bear to think about.

_~ fin ~_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lifeline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101236) by [BadWolf303](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolf303/pseuds/BadWolf303)




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